


Then, Now, Always

by Greythreads



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, sansan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 23:00:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21636913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greythreads/pseuds/Greythreads
Summary: My AU rewrite of the night of Blackwater, with Sansa aged up in my head, and newly aware of her feelings for Sandor Clegane.Things go better for the duo, then not so much.Years later they meet again at Winterfell. Sansa and Sandor are still alive, and so are their feelings for one another... but some of those feelings are anger, resentment, and self doubt. Will they work it out?My second posting/work... working up the nerve to post the longfic I'm working on. I'm not a real writer, just a huge SanSan fan :)
Relationships: Sandor Clegane & Sansa Stark, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 55
Kudos: 125





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1 

When she looked up from kissing Joffrey’s sword, it was the Hound’s eyes she met instead, as he stood behind his King obediently. 

The maddening tension between them the past two years had not improved. If anything, the contrast between his harsh words and kind actions was getting even more confusing. 

She was no longer afraid of him, she knew he would never hurt her, and would instead go out of his way to protect her when he could do so without inciting Joffrey’s wrath.

But why? 

This question plagued her.

As she matured she had learned to recognize when a man wanted her, and she had caught glimpses of that want in the Hound, but for all the times she had been alone with him, he could have taken her if that was what he was after. Instead they spoke. They talked. Frankly. Unpleasantly even, at times.

Their conversations usually ending up with one of them angry, but it felt so good to be able to drop her guard and give voice to her thoughts without fear the Hound would tell anyone. She trusted him.

Yet these times together stirred new feelings in her recently.

Whenever she was in his presence now, and found him watching her, something would flutter and twist in her stomach. 

When she would sneak up to the battlements in the evenings to escape her room for a bit, she now hoped, rather than feared, he might be there too.

She’d find herself often thinking about his touch. The times he had grabbed her arms or wrists roughly, and the times he had lifted her gently, nudged her softly, or dabbed her bloody lip.

Yet as her own feelings warmed towards him, he still returned any kind words or touch from her with disdain and mockery. 

But in this moment, standing behind his King, ready to go into battle, she saw something new darkening his eyes.

Stannis's army was here. It was time for the men to fight. Perhaps to die. 

As the bells tolled ominously high above them, and his eyes bore into hers, she felt a tremor of understanding run through her.

She had never feared for the Hound’s safety before. He was one of the most dangerous and fearsome warriors in Westeros. No man but his brother was his match in battle or tournament. 

But this was a war, not just a battle. She had taken for granted that he would always be there, a hulking shadow that never failed to appear just when she needed him. 

There was fear in his eyes tonight. Not fear for himself, she knew well enough that if death himself came to claim Sandor Clegane, he’d laugh in its face with a twisted smile. She remembered that smile as he cut through the men who would have taken her in the riot.

He was afraid for her. For her if something happened to him. To not be there to protect her. To never lay eyes on her again. Because he cared for her.

And in that moment she knew something else; she cared for him as well. Still more, she desired him. The scarred, terrifying Hound made her pulse race and claimed her thoughts like no other man ever had. 

Joffrey barked an order, and led the men waiting behind him away through the Throne room, not noticing the Hound’s eyes never leaving his betrothed’s face, or her following them out as if pulled by that stare.

The armored men clattered down the main staircase and out the Keep doors, and she ran straight ahead out onto the balcony overlooking the bailey, her handmaiden Shae at her heels, not ready to lose sight of him. She suddenly felt like she was losing something she had only just found. 

The squires stood with the soldiers’ horses in hand as the men mounted and drew their swords.

Somehow alongside her fear, there was also a thrill swelling in her chest to see him atop Stranger, his massive black war horse. Armored and helmed, the Hound would strike the fear of the Gods in all who fought against him. He and his horse dwarfed all those around them. 

Why now, as he was about to ride into battle, was the full force of her feelings becoming clear? The ferocity that once scared her into tears and stammers in his presence was now almost like a sin she was unashamed of savoring. 

She said a prayer that he would return. And that the King would not.

He kicked Stranger into motion and barked a command to his sortie. As they galloped off, she watched until she could no longer see him, her fist at her lips.

Shae watched her with a curious expression. “That one, your Hound, will return. I don’t think even death itself would keep him from you.”

Sansa turned to her knowing look, and she felt herself blush. “From me?” 

“You think I don’t see how he looks at you? How you look at him? I know exactly what he does to you, my Lady. And I know why. Passion is a balance of ferocity and love. That one is all passion my Lady. I see it in you as well.”

She blushed deeper. Passion? Love? If Shae had noticed this between her and the Hound, who else saw it as well? Had her feelings for him been plain to everyone but her? 

“I didn’t know what I felt for him. I was frightened of him for so long.”

“You were a child. How were you to know? Now you are a woman, and not just because you bleed. To be a woman is to know pain, yet remain strong. Same for a man. Those who have endured great pain are most capable of great passion. Passion requires strength, my Lady.”

“But Shae, now he may be killed in battle, and… "

“As all warriors may. They understand they face death. Would he stir this passion in you as much if he weren’t a killer, but some soft powdered Lordling? No. You wet your small clothes for the killer.”

“Shae!” 

Shae shrugged as she took her arm to lead her from the balcony. “It’s true, and you know it. Now come, we can do nothing but wait my Lady. The Queen is expecting us in Maegors. We must go or it will be noted.”

“I’d rather be in the Godswood at prayer. I can barely stand to look at her.”

“The Gods will hear you just as well inside. You now must go drink the Queen’s wine and play the part of the dutiful Lady, holding vigil for her King. Do you not wish to see the Queens face if she perhaps hears her twisted spawn has fallen in battle?” She smiled wickedly. 

Sansa laughed. “Nothing would please me more.”

She did have wine, sipping from a goblet poured for her as she was seated with the other noble ladies. It did settle her nerves a bit and turned her fear to something dark and wry as she watched Cersei. The Queen was beautiful, but that beauty no longer had the power to disguise the cruelty inside of her in Sansa’s eyes. 

As she sipped at her second cup of wine she thought about what Shae had said earlier. About the Hound, and passion. What kept coming to mind was the night he caught her on the Serpentine, as she was running back to her room from the Godswood. 

He was drunk that night, and after he caught her, he held her too close. It was the first time he ever let his eyes stray from her face, letting them wander down her body, and he spoke of how she now looked a woman grown. The wine had loosened his stony composure as well as his tongue. She could see how badly he wanted her, but surely enough he checked his impulses, barked that she was still just a stupid little bird, and escorted her safely to her chambers. When he took her face in hand she thought for a moment he may kiss her, but he instead asked for a song. A song she said she’d gladly sing for him one day.  
It was only after she bid him goodnight and was locked behind her door that she realized the encounter had been more thrilling than frightening. 

Her thoughts were interrupted when word of the battle arrived in the form of a dented and dirty Lancel Lannister. The boy looked like a spooked horse as he whispered to the Queen. Cersei nodded curtly and resumed sipping her own wine with a scowl on her lips, and fear in her eyes. 

Sansa decided now would be a good time for prayer, and invited the other women to join her. Perhaps they could all provide some comfort to one another this way.

When a great explosion rocked the holdfast, the women shrieked and clutched one another. Sansa’s blood went cold. 

She was the first one to the window and stared out incredulously as the entirety of Stannis’ fleet and Backwater Bay burned in a hellish green cloud of fire against the blackness of the night. 

Oh Gods. Fire. Fire everywhere. 

It was exploding from the ships, burning on the waters surface, and raining unnatural green flames down onto the men screaming in the bay and fighting on the waters edge. 

The Hound. 

The Hound was terrified of fire. He had shared the tale of how he received his disfiguring burns with her years ago. She felt sick thinking of him fighting out there. He must feel as if in a nightmare. 

Lancel returned again less than an hour later, this time with a bleeding cut to his shoulder, but news that made the Queens smile twist into an ugly joy.

Tywin Lannister's forces had arrived en masse, and beaten back Stannis and the remainder of his army, who were now in full retreat. 

Shae leaned into her and whispered “Get back to your chambers now my Lady, you do not want to be here if the King lives. Let him celebrate his victory without you in his sight.”

“I don’t understand?”

“Men return from battle with their blood still running hot, my Lady. Once the fighting is done all they want is to do is drink or fuck. Both usually. And if the King lives and comes looking for you, it won’t be pretty. Let his eyes and the eyes of his men fall elsewhere tonight.”

“Oh! Oh.” She kept forgetting Shae's past, how she met Lord Tyrion as a camp follower before a battle, and became first his whore, and then his lover for true. It was another secret she had been trusted with. 

Despite Shae's crudeness, she was always thankful of her honesty, and trusted her completely in return. Shae and the Hound were similar to her in that way, she realized. A whore and a scarred killer were kinder and more valued to her than golden Queens and Kings.

“You’ll come with me Shae?”

“No,” she laughed “If my Lion lives I want to be fucked while I can still see and smell the blood on him. It’s good when the RIGHT man’s blood is up.”

Sansa’s eyes went wide and Shae laughed at her shock. “Go. Go now while the Queen is occupied with the stupid boy knight.” She gave Sansa a push.

So she heeded Shae, and slipped unnoticed out of Maegors Hall, and down the stairs to the passage that led back to her chambers. Her steps felt clumsy and her head a bit wobbly. The wine. She had had two glasses and little else.

As she passed the window that faced out onto the inner bailey, her stomach dropped. The drawbridge was down, and the King and his men had just returned, though with far fewer numbers than had set out. The sky was still lit green as the bay continued to burn. 

Her eyes raked the soldiers one by one, but she saw no Hound. 

Her fingers clutched the stone ledge as she leaned out to look down. Soldiers and horses were filling the yard, but not him. Most were bloodied and dirty, many injured, but all with the air of triumph.  
She tried to control her breathing. She felt like she was gasping for air, and there wasn’t enough to be had. 

As she watched more men pass through the gate she felt the tears come. None were the man she sought, atop a fierce black stallion. 

The King’s armor caught her eye as he dismounted. It was conspicuously clean and still shining, a stark contrast to his men, who looked like they had been dragged through the Seven Hells. 

Joffrey headed into Maegors, under the window where she stood, passing out of her sight. Remembering Shae's warning, she finally had to turn away, and gathering her skirts in hand, ran towards her chambers, her tears now flowing freely. 

She could barely see as she rounded the bend in the corridor to her door, and no sooner had she turned then she collided with a wall of steel and flew backwards.

Armored fists caught her arms and kept her from falling. Before she had even recovered her senses she was lifted up around the waist and off her feet.

“Little Bird, why are you running?” he barked.

All she could do was cry out, “You’re here!”

Both his face and hair were damp with the Blackwater, sweat, and blood. His armor bloodied as well. 

“The fire. I saw the fire. It was everywhere. The Blackwater was burning!”

He squinted at her, his face hard. “Aye. Wildfire. Fucking Imp.”

She lifted her hands to his face. “You’re covered in blood!”

“Not my own.”

“Thank the Gods.” She didn’t care about who else’s it was, relief so strong washed over her. He was alive, and here. Without thinking she pressed her lips to his in a kiss.

He pulled his head back as if slapped, to stare at her in shock, his eyes wide. 

She looked right back at him, but before she could even wonder if she had just made a mistake, he crushed his lips to hers with a growl. Rough and hungry. 

This. This is why the sweet words and chaste kisses Knights and Lords had bestowed upon her in Kings Landing always left her empty and unsatisfied. None of that was real. It was all words and wind. 

With the Hound, there were no sweet words. Sometimes no words at all. No gallantry or feigned bravery. It was all real. No lies. Just harsh truth, killing, blood. 

Over the past two years the secrets they shared, her pain and his, the strange, stunted way they needed one another, had somehow become an invisible chain that bound them together. This is why she unconsciously sought him out day after day. Year after year. And why she always found him, and he, her. He had seen her at her worst, kept her secrets, and she his.

As she opened her lips to him and met his tongue, he growled into her mouth, and it shook something loose in her. She felt heat flood every inch of her body, and a throb of desire warm her with every heartbeat. 

She pressed her mouth to his even harder and turned her head to deepen the kiss, clinging to him.

With three long strides he had her through her chamber door, kicked it shut, and bolted it without setting her down or breaking their kiss.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

For the first time in his life, he was ready to walk away from a battle. Fuck this, he thought. I’ll swing steel, and die by steel, but I won’t stand here and burn to death for anyone. 

When the ships exploded, he fought on. When the Blackwater itself burned, he fought on. But when it began to rain burning debris onto the shores, alighting everything and everyone it touched, and men still engulfed in green hellfire crawled up out of the water at him, he was done.

Frozen by the sight of his nightmares come to life before him, he almost didn’t see the man about to cleave him with the battle axe. At the last moment some instinct moved his sword to deflect the blow before his mind had even caught up. With one slash he took the man apart.

As he turned from the burning chaos all around him, striding towards the gate in a daze, he heard cries that the invaders were retreating. Lord Tywin had come at last. He didn’t care. 

Everything was still burning and he wanted the fuck away from it all.

Once he passed through the gate, finding Stranger where he had left him, he rode fast to keep ahead of the King and his men, who had remained behind the walls, but were now turning towards the castle themselves. 

He entered the stables and flung Stranger’s reigns to the stable boy. His only clear thought was to go find the Little Bird.

He knew what men sought after battle, and wanted her locked somewhere far away from every one of them. 

If he were to be honest with himself, he also just needed to see her. His hands shook like they never had after a battle, and a tight pain clawed inside his chest. Something inside him knew that if only he could look upon her upturned face and hear her ridiculous chirping it would stop. Stop the panic from engulfing him.

Not finding her in Maegors Hall with the other highborn ladies, he headed to her chambers with a new fear gripping him. 

When she slammed into him just outside her door, it was all he could do to catch her before she fell. He snatched her up without even thinking, and was rewarded with not a shriek of fear, but what almost seemed like relief to see him, and a breathless concern for him. 

But he saw she had been crying. 

He looked behind her, ready to kill whoever she was running from, in tears, but the corridor was empty.

It gave him a start when she reached to hold his face in her smooth white hands, and spoke of the fire. She knew. But he had known she would, hadn’t he?

She was afraid for the blood covering him.

It wasn’t his.

When she kissed him he almost dropped her.

Why the fuck did she just kiss him? 

He had burned in a different way for this girl since he laid eyes on her. Hating himself for it when she was just a child. Hating himself when she flowered. Hating himself as he saw her growing into a woman so beautiful she was both pleasure and pain for him to look upon.  
Hating himself because she was the one woman that belonged to his King. And hating that he could do so little for her because of it.

But the hate was never quite enough to keep you from her, was it Dog? You seek her everywhere. In every room. You want to protect her like a child and fuck her like a woman, and can do neither. You drink yourself sick to chase her from your head every night.

And now you’re here clutching her like a scared little boy clutches at a beloved toy, and she kissed you. 

He tasted the wine on her. Felt the looseness of her in his arms, when she’d otherwise tense like a bowstring to be held as such. The Little Bird had had too much drink tonight. That’s why no screams. 

That’s why the kiss.

The shock of her mouth on his lasted long enough for him to pull back and get a good look at her. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips still parted, peering down at him from his arms with her mask of propriety slipped off and her face all softness. 

It has to be the wine. But fuck it all. He was only a man. 

He held her tighter and took her lips with his in a growl. ‘Mine.' his brain shouted as she returned his kiss, and his cock agreed almost instantly. 

He almost stopped to bark a laugh. This is what he came to protect her from just a moment ago. Now he was carrying her to her room, kicking her door open and dropping the bolt behind them, the battle and fire all but forgotten. 

He couldn’t get enough of her mouth. Soft. Warm. With the ghost of wine on her tongue. She was trying to keep up with his kisses, but she had no idea the sort of hunger he had for her. He felt he could swallow her alive.

Holding her in this fucking armor wasn’t close enough. He needed to feel her body against him. 

Setting her down on her feet he broke their kisses and stepped back to remove his gauntlets, throwing them to the floor.

He looked at her. Her hands behind her and back pressed to the door. Breath coming fast and straining her breasts against the bodice of her gown. It was bloodied now from being pressed against him and there was a smear of blood on her cheek. It stirred something primal in him. Her lips were just as red as the blood, and swollen from his kisses. 

Her eyes never leave his face. And what darkened them wasn’t fear.

Fucking Hells. Stop this now. 

He couldn’t. Others take him. 

He wanted her and nothing else mattered in this moment. The whole castle could burn down around them if he could just have her. Let her chase the fear and the pain out of him, if only for tonight.

He unclasped his plate and threw it off. Snatched her up again by the waist and crushed his mouth to hers. Her arms came around his neck and held tight as he threw one arm under her bottom and pulled her up into him. When he felt her legs wrap around his waist he growled into her mouth again and turned to back her up against a tapestry hanging from the wall of her chambers. She was a feather in his arms. 

Why the fuck is she letting me do this? 

She’s not so drunk she thinks I’m one of the handsome knights that slaver over her? She’s going to come to her senses any moment now and slap me away screaming, and she’ll have the right of it.

Instead of a slap she let out a gasp as he pressed her back into the wall and himself up against her. His cock was iron through his breeches. His hands, one then the other, found their way under her skirts, past her stockings to grip the backs of her soft thighs. Her skin so warm and smooth in his hands, he couldn’t help but continue until he had slid them up under her small clothes, and had her bare bottom in his palms.

He felt drunk himself, touching her this way. The scent of her around him stronger than the reek of blood and death. 

He lowered his lips to her throat and she tipped her head back, gripping the back of his neck. He wanted so badly to bite the white skin there, the hot pulse he felt under his tongue. He wanted to consume her into him so he’d have the taste of her in his mouth forever. Bite and suck to mark the flesh of her neck as his and his alone. 

She moved her hands to his hair as he bent further to kiss the tops of her breasts, and when he put his mouth over one of her nipples right through the thin silk of her gown, she moaned so prettily he almost spent himself right there in his breeches.

Seven Hells.

“Little Bird…” he breathed. He needed to remind her it was him, because he knew he couldn’t stop this himself. He would need that slap.

“Sandor,” she answered, his name somewhere between a plea and a moan. 

His name. Then she looked at him, and she saw him. And she wanted him.

Fuck me. I’m lost.

Tears stung at his eyes, and he couldn’t control the strangled sob that escaped his throat. Then her mouth was there, kissing the tightness choking him away, tasting skin that had never been tasted, nipping like the wolf he knew she was under her courtesies.

It was all too much.

He took her mouth again savagely and thrust his cock up between her legs against her small clothes. She dug her heels into him, to press him tighter still. Gods, he almost lost himself again. 

She was breathing little gasps into his mouth each time he pressed himself up against her in a slow rhythm, her hands fisted with his hair. 

It was all the invitation he needed.

He was reaching one hand down, unlacing his breeches, his body overwhelmed, his last shred of self control gone, his only thought to be inside her, when the banging came at the door and shocked them both back to consciousness. 

“Lady Sansa, are you in there?” BANG. “I’ve come to see that you’re alright. If there’s anything you need.” BANG. “We’ve won my Lady. It’s alright to open the door. We should celebrate.” BANG BANG.

Kettleback.

He was slurring his words and continuing to hammer at her door. Sandor knew just how the fucker wanted to celebrate. It was what he himself was doing with her, to her, right this moment. 

Fucking Hells. 

“Don’t say a word Little Bird. Fucking Kettleback cunt. I’ll run him through.” He hissed raggedly to her, catching his breath and slowly setting her down. She had her hands on his chest and a stricken look knitting her brow as they both stared at the door. 

When he heard Kettleback try the latch, rage tore through him. And then shame. 

He took a step back from her as if she burned, watching her hands drop from his chest to her sides.

Kettleback was the cunt banging on her door, but wasn’t he no better? Here in her chambers with his hands up the Little Bird’s skirts and his cock about out? 

What the fuck was he doing? About to take Lady Sansa Stark’s maidenhead against a wall?

He shook his head and scrubbed his hands down over his face. His sense slowly returning, and guilt washing over him.

The King would be marching her up to the battlements to look upon his spiked head next, if hers wasn’t already beside it. This was madness. He was going to get them both killed. 

The Knight finally gave up his pounding and left in search of easier prey, no doubt. 

He went to pick up his armor, and silently began to strap it back in place.  
He dared one look back at her, through the veil of his hanging hair. She was still at the tapestry, a look he couldn’t read on her face, watching him. The battle blood on her gown that had inflamed him earlier now turned his stomach to see on her pretty dress. 

He had bloodied her one way and was just about to bloody her in another as well.  
He had to leave. Now.

“I’m sorry Little Bird. I’m going. I’m sorry.”


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

This was nothing like any of the kisses she had had before. 

At first she didn’t quite know what to do when his mouth crashed onto hers with such force, and his tongue came between her lips, but both the wine and the desire for him emboldened her, and seemed to possess her lips and hands. 

She clutched at him, trying to rid herself of any space left between them, and returned the hunger in his kisses with her own. 

He was safe, alive, here. That mattered more than anything else.

When he bolted her chamber door behind them, and broke their kiss to set her down, she felt the immediate loss of him. 

As she watched him remove his gauntlets and plate, she took in the sight of him.  
His enormity was hardly diminished without the armor. Even with plate and jerkin removed his presence seemed to take up the entire room. 

He was breathing as hard as she was, and as she watched his massive chest move, he lifted the hem of his tunic to wipe the blood from his face. The sight of his stomach exposed, muscled hard and covered in hair as black as that on his head, made her knees feel weak. The urge to touch and kiss him there came unbidden. What a beautiful part of a man, she thought. 

That feeling of pride and possession came to her again, looking at him. The ruin of his face had long ago faded into the background of what was HIM. Sandor Clegane. She hardly noticed it anymore. 

What she now saw was the intensity in his grey eyes, the strong body that he used to shield and protect others, and the hands and lips that made her dizzy when they touched her.

The whole castle melted away when he picked her up again, her legs wrapping his hips unbidden, and he turned to press her between himself and the tapestry hung on the adjoining wall. 

She felt the strength and hardness of him. His arms and chest were like stone, and she felt delicate and weightless in his hands. But it was feeling the different hardness of his manhood between her legs that stole her breath. It was as if the feeling of him pressed there was the answer to a question she had been straining at forever. 

Where his fingers moved to grip her thighs, she knew she’d have bruises, but she thrilled at the thought of seeing them there. His bruises would mean something  
different from the rest.

His lips on her throat were so hot. Kissing, sucking, biting, as she held his head there, her breath coming faster. It all felt so very good. A feeling she couldn’t have even imagined before.

He bent his head further and trailed his lips down her neck, to her collarbone, to the tops of her breasts, and the sensation there was like lightning bolting through her. She felt her breasts swell and tingle under his kisses. 

When his rough hands worked up her thighs and under her small clothes to find her bare bottom, she felt his fingertips graze her wetness, and a beating need blossomed between her legs. 

She didn’t even attempt to stifle her moan as his mouth took her nipple through the silk of her gown. He moaned himself, almost as if in pain, the deep sound vibrating through her.

After years of sorrow, the feelings running through her body under his hands and lips were the seven heavens themselves. This sort of desire was all new to her, but all wonderful, and she felt as if her whole being was grasping for more. More of him. She wanted him everywhere. On her, in her.

Her hands grasped his shoulders, his neck, fisted his hair, and the scent of him, the steel, blood, sweat, horse, all of it, was as intoxicating as the wine in her veins as it surrounded her. She breathed it in and let it fill her. 

He was a man grown, and she a woman flowered, but she often still felt like no more than a silly child around him. She wished for him to see her as a woman. Treat her as one. Here, now, she finally felt to be one. And if sharing this passion with a man was so wrong, why did it feel like the most perfect thing? She couldn’t imagine Gods cruel enough to call this pleasure sinful while there was so much horrible pain in the world.

In his passion he thrust his hardness up against her wet small clothes, again and again, in a slow rhythm that was making her gasp. Gods, I can feel every muscle of him. Killer. Protector. Mine. 

She clutched him tightly with her legs, her hands still in his hair, wanting him closer still, wanting for them to melt together somehow and to never have the feeling of being alone without him.

He took her lips again, their kisses now two mouths touching, open to one another, exchanging their gasps and life’s breath. Their most intimate conversation. 

She wanted him to take her now. She knew with no doubt that she wanted to be his in this way, only his. Any thoughts of propriety were abandoned. The primal need to have him inside her, one with her, overtook everything. She cared nothing for the maidenhead that only offered her a cruel boy King and a life of misery. She wanted this man and no other. 

“Little Bird…” she heard him rasp. Passion and pain together.

“Sandor.” His true name felt like a prayer on her lips. A plea for more.

She pulled his head back and met his eyes, black now with his desire. 'Look at me' He had often said to her. She wanted him to see she was looking at him now, in this moment that she was giving all of herself to him, and asking for all of him in return. 

The cords of his neck tensed as something like a sob tore through him, and she bent her head to kiss him there. Opening her mouth to his skin, tasting him, feeling the muscles move as he gasped at the feeling of her teeth nip at him.

When he reached for his laces she thought ‘Yes, please, now. I want us to belong to each other in this way. Whatever happens no one can take this night from me.’

And then there was a pounding at the door. 

They both froze.

BANG. BANG. “Lady Sansa, are you in there?” BANG. “I’ve come to see that you’re alright. If there’s anything you need.” BANG. “We’ve won my Lady. Its alright to open the door. We should celebrate.” BANG BANG.

He was already drunk and slurring his words.

BANG. “It’s alright to unbar the door my Lady. Come join the celebration. Open the door!” BANG.

Sandor glared daggers at the door and hissed in fury. “Don’t say a word Little Bird. Fucking Kettleback cunt. I’ll run him through.”

The knight then had the nerve to try the latch, but finding it bolted, finally gave up his banging. They heard him move away down the corridor.

But the moment between them was lost. Sandor put her down, his chest heaving, and backed away from her, not meeting her eyes, as he worked to calm his breathing. 

She was gasping for air herself as she watched him struggle for composure. She wanted to call him back to her. But his passion had turned to anger, his fists clenching at his sides.

When he turned away and began putting his jerkin and armor back on she could have cried. Instead she watched in silence. Once he was done he finally looked back to her, not even meeting her eyes.

“I’m sorry Little Bird. I’m going. I’m sorry.” 

She could see despair now, and shame on his face, and she could almost hear his thoughts. He felt like he was taking advantage of her, was as low for it as the stupid knight banging on her door. 

“Don’t go. I want you to stay. I want you to kiss me again. I want this from you. You’re not stealing it.”

“Aye, I’m stealing. I’m stealing what’s not ever meant to be mine.”

“Sandor…”

“Don’t. I said I’d never hurt you. What do you think I was just about to do Little Bird?”

“You would never hurt me.” The tears were now spilling from her eyes at the black look closing his face off from her. 

“I have to leave this place.”

Panic rose in her throat at something in his voice. 

“What do you mean leave?”

She tried to approach him, but he stopped her with one hand on her shoulder.  
“I’m going." He said again. And the finality of his words hit her like a blow.

“Burn that dress before anyone sees it. That blood won’t wash out.” With that he turned and walked to the door, unbolted it, and left her.

She sunk to her knees and wrapped her arms around her middle, sobbing at the cold emptiness retuning. 

He had left without his white Kingsguard cloak. It lay discarded on the carpet in front of her. Seeing it, she knew.

She pulled it to her and balled it in her arms, pressing her face down into it, the sobs still wracking her.  
It smelled of damp and smoke, blood and horse. And him. 

She wasn’t sure how long she cried, but as the sun began to rise over the Blackwater, she ran out of tears.

Suddenly anger seized her. She had wrapped herself in the cloak at some point, but now pulled it from her shoulders and threw it with a scream of fury across the room, at the cold hearth. Stripping her dress off, she flung that on the grate as well.

How dare he. 

How dare he awaken such feelings in her, kiss her so, hold her, and then leave her. Was he so thick-headed that he couldn’t see what she wanted? Or was she the stupid girl who thought his affections were true? How could they be if some drunk at the door was enough to drive him away in a rage?  
Make him feel ashamed for touching her?

May be the good man she had learned to see under the snarling dog was the lie. The angry beast the truth instead.

No. That was never it. Her heart knew.

But he left her all the same.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

He rode into Winterfell with Jon and the little Queen. The shock took her breath away and felt like a blow to her gut. They told me he was dead. He’s not dead. He’s here. In the North. In my castle. 

She had no time to even gather her wits before two dragons flew screaming overhead and hundreds, no, thousands, of Dothraki and Unsullied came cresting over the rise.

There was no time for emotion. There was only her duty now. She would have to think about Sandor Clegane later.

Only once did she see him in the days since the Queen's caravan arrived. He was outside the stables tending to his horse, an enormous black courser. Stranger, she remembered. He still had Stranger. The horse was already more infamous about the castle for his temper than his owner.

She stopped in her tracks when she spotted him, and had the overwhelming urge to go to him. Touch him and see if he was real. Hear his voice. But to what end? She laughed wryly. What would be the point when they may all be dead in a few days? He had already become another of her ghosts, and may very well be again. So she went on her way.

Then the long night came, and the dead with it. When dawn broke and the battle was won, so many lives had been lost, but many more saved. Even the lives of those who never knew it.

Afterwards words were said, their dead were burned, their wounded were tended to, and life slowly began to go on.

She cobbled together a feast. A farewell for those lost and a celebration for those living. It had come together surprisingly well for being held in a half ruin of a castle. When Lord Tyrion suggested all she needed for success were the keys to the wine cellar, she was glad she had listened.

As the crowd ate and drank, they started to speak again, tell their battle stories, give thanks for one another. As they became drunk they began to smile, to laugh, and to live again. She was happy to see it. And that’s exactly what she did, sip at her own cup of wine, and see. She sat alone and watched them all.

While the wine warmed her blood, her heart still felt cold. She felt herself apart from everyone, worrying already on what was to come next.

A few seats away, sitting alone as well, she could sense the little Queen felt the same. Perhaps more so now with the loss of her Ser Jorah. 

It was darkly humorous. Here they were, two young women of extraordinary beauty, clutching politics and ghosts to their breasts instead of lovers.

Thoughts of lovers took her to only one man. The only man she ever wanted as a lover. The only man whose kisses and touch were ever welcomed. Every one after him was a sorrow.

She let herself look. She had been aware of him all evening. To say she wasn’t was a lie. She had spotted him immediately as he came into the hall and took a seat, it was the first time he had ever come.

He was aware of her as well. She was hard to miss up on the dias. But even after years she could still feel when his eyes were on her. Like a whisper stirring the fine hairs on the back of her neck.

He had his head down, studying his wine cup, and seemed lost in his thoughts. Her own thoughts drifted as well. She would need to speak to him eventually. 

Her intention was to thank him. As the Lady of Winterfell it was her duty to present herself, and offer her formal thanks for the service he provided the North, and for all he had done for her sister and brother. 

She had heard most the stories from them. How he had done so much for both. Arya, though not quite ready to speak of all that happened during the long night, did tell her that Sandor and Ser Beric had saved her life at one point. That would make almost a dozen times he had risked his own life for Arya, and then he had gone beyond the wall and done so for Jon as well. 

It cut her anew that she was the only one he had left behind. Abandoned. Only her.

Her attention was called back to him when she heard Tormund call out "Clegane!". 

The Wildling had a serving girl under each arm, and was loudly and drunkenly presenting one to Sandor.

Sansa didn’t want to care about any of it, yet somehow found herself holding her breath as she watched the scene intently.

The serving girl slipped into the seat next to him, and pressed herself close. When Sansa saw the wench run a hand up Sandor’s arm, and the other under the table to his thigh, a new feeling clawed at her throat. Jealousy. 

She was on her feet and moving just as he barked at the girl. He barked.

Stifling a laugh that was half sob, she continued to his table. The girl had run off by the time she was standing before him.

“You just frightened off what could have been a pleasurable evening.”

“My wine’s the only pleasure I need, Lady Stark." he said without looking up.

She said nothing in reply, but took a seat across from him. She watched him and waited, with more calm than she felt. 

When he finally looked up to meet her gaze, his face was stone, but those grey eyes were a torment.

“I wanted to speak with you.”

“So speak.”

“Not here. Walk with me?”

He stared at her longer than should have been comfortable, but she wasn’t intimidated by his hard looks any more. She had seen much worse than Sandor Clegane since they parted, and held his eyes until his look turned to one of resignation, then curiosity. 

Seeing the change she rose, and made for the hall doors. She heard the bench scrape back and him follow.

He caught up to her outside, and fell in next to her, a slight hitch in his left leg. 

She had left her cloak behind in the hall, but the cold felt calming to her. She needed her composure to get through this.

“Where are we going, Lady Stark?”

“To my chambers.” She hadn’t known that was her intention until she had spoken the words. 

He said nothing, and their silence stretched up the stairs and down the corridors, to her door. 

She bid him enter, and motioned for him to have a seat at the small table by the hearth. She was pleased to see him looking so uncomfortable in the delicate chair. 

Taking her time, she poured two goblets of wine from the flagon on the table, and offered him one. She took the other and sat in the chair opposite his.

It was her turn to study him. She did so openly, until it was he who looked away, down into his cup.

He looked the same. A few more lines on his face marked the time they were apart, but otherwise he was still enormous and imposing, his presence still filled the room. 

She looked at his hands, the same large hands that had once held her harshly, tenderly, passionately. 

It was she who finally spoke.

“I wanted to offer my thanks to you Sandor, for riding North to fight alongside Winterfell, and for all you’ve done to help Arya and Jon. They’ve both shared the tales of your mutual travels, and the risks you took on their behalf. You’ve earned their respect, and that’s no easy feat. I don’t know what I would have done if I would have lost them too.”

He had leaned forward and was about to speak, but she already knew what he was going to say, and cut him off.

“And don’t say that you don’t need my thanks or my chirps, because I know those will be the next words out of your mouth. I know you don’t need my gratitude but you have it regardless.”

He barked a laugh. “The Lady knows me so well.”

“The Lady thought she knew you, but that was a long time ago, and I was quite wrong apparently.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Little Bird?”

“Little Bird? I was Lady Stark a moment ago, but now you’re angry with me, so I’m the silly Little Bird again?”

“You could have thanked me in the hall, Lady Stark. You didn’t need to have me up to your chambers. So what exactly is it that you want from me?”

She let out a sharp laugh. Took a sip of her wine and looked at him.

“What I want from you? It would have to be what I want from you, wouldn't it, because you clearly want nothing from me. The truth then?"

“Aye. Out with it already.”

“I want to know why you risked your life to help my sister, why you risked your life to help my brother, but you so easily left me behind to be devoured by every monster in Kings Landing.” 

She had risen to her feet as her blood rose. She felt the heat in her cheeks, and tears of frustration and anger prick at her eyes.

“You kissed me, and held me, and I was ready to give myself to you that last night. My body, my love, my everything. But you left me, alone, sobbing on the cold floor, and were gone the next day. You abandoned me!”

He had set his cup down, and was gripping the arms of the chair with white knuckles. It was a miracle it wasn't already kindling. 

She took a deep breath and tamped her voice into an icy whisper. "So tell me why, Sandor, why did you ever let me believe that I mattered to you?"


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

He had never seen her so enraged. 

Her words felt like daggers. 

She had every right to hate him. He expected it. He did leave her when he should have stayed. He was never the true knight she wanted to protect her. Rescue her. But he should have done it anyway. The guilt of it afterwards had been what almost killed him.

Now she stood there, waiting for an answer. 

“Why, Little Bird? Why? Because I was the biggest monster of them all. You thought I was something I wasn’t. You thought I was brave, when all I did was stand there and watch them beat you? Watched as they tormented you day after day. Did I raise my sword and slay the King? The Queen? Run Trant through? No, I did nothing. Nothing but want you for myself, and at the first opportunity I was about to take what I wanted, wasn’t I? How was that for a monster? I thought I was saving you from myself when I left. Saving you from throwing your life away on a worthless dog.”

He was standing too now, looking down into her eyes that had gone from ice to blue fire more frightening than the flames that poured from that undead dragon. 

He took a step back from her.

She took a step forward. 

“So that’s it? YOU decided I needed saving from you? Did you ever ASK me if I felt the same? No, because I was just a stupid bird, wasn’t I? Not a thought of my own in my pretty little head. I would have gone away with you, had you asked. That night I wanted your kisses, your touch. When you returned alive, while the city burned around us, I thanked the Gods. I told you the truth, you took nothing I didn’t give freely. But you left anyway. And then the worst thing, worse than you gone, gone you were still alive somewhere, but no, Arya tells me you were dead. GODS BE DAMNED SANDOR, I MOURNED YOU! I HAVE WEPT ON MY KNEES UNTIL DAWN TWICE FOR YOU! I LOVED YOU!”

He was so stunned by her words, he never saw the slap coming. 

When she went to slap him again he grabbed her wrists. Her breaths were coming out in ragged sobs, and her fury had reddened her cheeks. 

The tears spilling from her eyes fell onto his hands as they stood locked in this moment. 

He gave her a shake. “I was wrong Little Bird. About everything. Wrong.”

She turned her head away from him, tried to free her hands from his grasp.

He would not let her go. Not make the same mistake twice. So he jerked her wrists, pulling her into him and crushed his mouth down onto hers. 

She struggling against him at first, but then he felt her relent, and open her mouth to his. When he let go of her wrists her hands gripped the back of his neck, and the force of her own kiss was punishment, acceptance, and forgiveness. 

They always had communicated better without words.

She had loved him. His mind repeated what she had said over and over, as she pressed her body into him and he held her head in his hands. She had mourned him. 

She tasted of wine and tears and he knew some of those tears were his own. All this time she was angry and hurt because he turned his back on her. She thought he didn’t want her. That bit cracked his heart. He would never let her feel unwanted again. 

Arya once called him the worst shit in the Seven Kingdoms. She wasn’t too far off. While perhaps not the worst, he was the stupidest. 

He would spend whatever was left of his life making it up to her if she’d allow it.

She twined a hand into his hair and he lifted her to him. She was still a feather. 

When she broke their kiss he slowly slid her down against him. She clutched at his collar and stared into his eyes, her lips swollen and the tears still in her lashes and on her cheeks. Her anger had fled and something else burned in her now, but no less fierce.

He could have been standing in the corridor of the Red Keep all over again for how badly he wanted her. 

The hunger clawed at his gut, as did the guilt. There was still something he needed her to hear.

“I’m sorry Little Bird. Been sorry since the night I left… you have it right that I never thought to ask. A man like me learns to assume no woman like you would give two shits about him. But I should have trusted you.”

“Ask me now.”

He ran a hand along her thick braid, and gently cupped the back of her neck. Brushed the tears from her cheek.

“What do you want, Little Bird?”

“You. It’s always been you.”

She began unclasping his jerkin, never taking her eyes from his, and pushed it off his shoulders onto the floor, then untied his tunic, pushing it up and slipping her hands under it to his chest. His breath hitched to feel her soft hands on his bare skin.

He pulled it off in one motion and threw it aside. She leaned up to kiss the base of his throat as her hands traveled down his stomach to the laces of his breeches, tugging out the top knot. He clutched her waist tightly, the feeling of her lips and teeth suddenly on his chest almost swaying him on his feet.

She stepped away after a moment, and turned her back to him, drawing her braid over her shoulder. She turned her head to looked up at him . 

“Unlace me.” It was a command. 

His fingers were trembling and clumsy with the thin ribbons, and it was all he could do not to just tear them apart. 

Once undone, he let the dress slip down her shoulders to puddle on the floor at her feet and kissed the long white neck before him. 

Reaching for her braid he drew it back, and pulled out the ribbon holding it in place. Slowly he worked the plait loose, and combed his fingers through it down her back, before winding it around his fist to bare the other side of her neck to his lips.

She reached a hand back to cup his head. He let her hair go to wrap his hand around her, to smooth over the flat plain of her stomach, to spread his fingertips into the thin fabric of her shift and hold her to him.

His other hand moved along the underside of her arm holding him, down to skim the side of her breast, the dip of her waist, the curve of her hip. 

His lips and tongue trailed down her neck, the taste of her soft skin better than any wine. He reached the strap of her shift and slipped it off her shoulder, kissing every freckle he found there. 

With her pressed against him, his hard cock felt every breath she took. He buried his face in her hair as he cupped her breasts, her nipples rising to his touch.

She turned to him, and brought his mouth down to hers again. There was an urgency to her kisses that he responded to in kind. They were too long apart, the kisses said, had suffered too much to wait any longer.

Now. Now. Now. It’s our time.

She stepped away and took his hand, pulling him towards her canopied featherbed. He followed like an obedient child. She backed him up against it and shocked him by giving him a hard shove onto his back. 

He couldn’t help but laugh at her. “Easy Little Bird, I’m quite delicate you know.”

“You’re the least delicate man I know. It’s one of the things I like best about you. But now that I know roughing you up a bit makes you laugh, I may do it more often.”

“Aye, you can slap me and shove me all you like as long as you kiss me and take off my clothes afterwards.”

That was the truth of it. Seeing the Little Bird with her hair down, cheeks red, and her claws out was threatening his control.

She surprised him again by bending to tug off his boots, throwing them aside, and running her hand slowly down the strained laces of his breeches. He threw his head back onto the bed and groaned as she slowly untied them, pulled them down, and slapped at his hip to get him to raise up so she could pull them off the rest of the way.

He wasn’t sure if he regretted skipping wearing small clothes or not this evening. She didn’t seem to notice the lack of the extra layer, and was standing between his legs, letting her eyes take in his nakedness.

He was oddly more shy of her gaze on his collection of battle scars than his on his cock. 

When she smoothed one hand slowly up his bad thigh, then over his length, he groaned again and sat up to pull her forward, over him and onto the bed.

Taking her with him, he backed up into the middle of the expansive featherbed, and she straddled his thighs, bending her chest to his to kiss him slow and deep.  
His hands collected the red hair that fell down onto him, and he pulled it together over one shoulder, twisting it gently around in his fist again, trying to ignore the silky ghost of her shift brushing over his cock.

Releasing her hair, he let his hands roam down her back and around her bottom. Every curve was a wonder. He ran his fingers up her sides, now under her shift, taking the fabric with him as he circled her breasts with his thumbs, the lightest of touches. Her nipples still rigid. She moaned a pretty “Mmmmm” and sat up on him.

With his heart pounding, he watched as she took the hem of her shift, and raised it up and off, throwing it onto the floor. 

Moving sideways off him, she hooked her fingers into the waist of her small clothes, slid them down and off, and returned to his lap. It was as graceful as a dance.

She never took her eyes off his. 

He was proud of many things; past tournaments won, battles fought, even climbing on a fucking fire breathing dragon… but none of it compared to how proud he was that he didn’t spend himself laying right there on Sansa Stark’s featherbed, at just the sight of her naked body in the firelight, straddling his. 

He’d fight the dead again every day if this is what he could come back to every night. 

He drank in the moist curls of the red hair around her cunt, the same dizzying shade as her long locks, the blush of her cheeks matching the pink of her nipples, the lips swollen and raw from his kisses.

“Little Bird, you’re the most amazing thing my eyes have ever seen. Then, now, always.”

“Say that again.”

“Which part?”

“The ‘always'. I want us to be ‘always’ Sandor. There’s a reason we’re both still alive, and here together now.”

“Aye, Little Bird, always. You’ve been my ‘always’ from the very first time I saw you. I’m a fool for never telling you before.”

She met his lips again, and now it was her bare nipples that danced up his chest as she took his mouth hard and deep. He ran his fingers again down her curves, loving the way just grazing the sides of her breasts made her gasp and crawl up further to settle her hot wetness on him. 

He growled into her mouth and grabbed her hips to press her harder onto himself and rocked her back and forth along his cock. She rewarded him by moaning and taking up the motion herself until they were both gasping. 

When he felt her slide up further and then down, sinking herself slowly onto him, he rose his hips to meet hers. Buried in her wetness and heat, he knew he could die this instant a happy man.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter for this one... thank you so much to everyone who left kind comments and feedback!! 
> 
> As a first time poster, and never-before writer, I was pretty nervous putting this out there, but this community is so kind and welcoming! 
> 
> You've all given me the nerve to go on, and start posting my next work... a much longer fiction. 
> 
> Thank you Thank you!!
> 
> P.S. Don't tell me you ever expected Sandor to give a romantic speech without threatening to kill someone at LEAST once... ;)

Chapter 6

She had always been uncomfortable under the stares and leers of men, they made her feel powerless. 

But the way Sandor was looking up at her made her think of a child seeing their first rainbow. It was wonder, and reverence, and what she dared to hope, love. It made her feel strong and beautiful. 

It wasn’t until their bodies were joined that she realized the restraint they had both shown up until this point.

Joined, something fought free in each of them and ran. 

There was no thinking. Her body knew what to do once he was inside her, and with her hands on his chest, and his on her hips, they moved together as if bewitched. 

The taut muscles in his neck as he threw his head back mesmerized her, so she ran her fingers down them. 

His gasps and moans mesmerized her, so she moved herself over him again and again to hear them.

There was nothing else but this. 

Long ago she sought perfection. The perfect song, the perfect dress, the perfect courtesies, the perfect knight. 

But it was this that was truly perfect. This brutal, scarred, cursing, terribly improper, giant of a man, and their long twisted journey back to each other made this moment everything to her.

She told it true when she said it had always been him.

He had once said the world was built by killers, and over the years she had discovered the truth in it. She too had become a killer. Now perhaps two killers could build their own world, with love instead of death. Replace the pain with this passion.

As she felt her pleasure building, she moved faster, pressed herself to him harder, met his eyes and held them. 

Seven save me, the look in his eyes alone is enough to make me lose myself. 

She wanted him to see how badly she wanted him, needed him, in her eyes as well. If her words weren’t enough then her body would show him. 

Somehow he knew just what she wanted as her breath came shorter. He sat up and gathered her to him, smoothly twisting her under him onto her back. 

Almost her whole bottom was cupped in one massive hand, and he held himself over her with the other. Any other man his size would crush a woman beneath him, but the way he held her up to him, all she felt was his cock and his kisses, the presence of him inside her heavier, deeper.

Perfection. 

Her heels dug into his back as he moved into her now with absolute abandon. Faster. Harder. She tilted her hips to meet his, and clutched at his back. 

“Yes. Oh…” was all she could manage as she felt the first waves of pleasure crash up through her. She bit her moans into his shoulder.

Whether it was her bite, her song, or the feeling of her throbbing around him, she wasn’t sure. But he thrust once again deeply, held her against himself tightly, and stiffened with his own release.

He was quieter than me, she thought with a giggle, only growling out a rough “Oh Gods, Sansa” into her hair, still holding his hips to her own. 

It was the first time he had ever said her name, and she loved that it was in this moment, with them joined and taking their pleasure. 

He remained there, braced over her, in her, his forehead down onto his forearm, catching his breath. 

She lazily trailed her fingers lightly up and down his back, feeling it expand with each breath, and felt happier than she had been in years. Safe. At peace.

After a bit he gathered her up again, moving back against her pillows, keeping her in his lap. He brushed her hair over one shoulder, and wound it gently around one fist. It was the third time he had done it, she found it both tender and possessive, and she liked it. 

She took his face in her hands. 

“That's what it’s supposed to be like, isn’t it? Between a man and a woman. No pain, no sorrow, just pleasure.”

“No. That was even better than it’s supposed to be, Little Bird.” He laughed. 

She leaned in to kiss him slowly, softly, the hair on his chest grazing her breasts.

“You tickle.” She smiled into his lips, and sat up to run her hands through the hair. 

“Aye, the Bear and the Maiden Fair for true.”

“I like this bear.”

“He’s a bloody lucky bear.”

She climbed off him, and stretched out beside him, tucking herself under one big arm. He rested his chin on her head, and they lay together quietly. Comfortably. 

Sansa slipped into her own thoughts, and after a bit, spoke.

“May I ask you something Sandor?”

“Aye. After that you can ask anything you like. I’ll answer it true, scour the kingdom to get it for you, or kill whoever you name with my bare hands.”

She laughed. “No one needs to die for this request, but it is a bit forward.”

“More forward than inviting me to your chambers so you could slap me, undress me, then shove me into your bed? Alright, let’s hear it.”

“Funny. Who would have thought Sandor Clegane was funny once naked and ravaged?”

“Out with it girl.”

She placed her hands against his chest, and grew serious. “I love you. Even before I knew what that meant, it was you I was searching for. And I believe you love me too.”

He held her chin and softly ran his thumb over her lower lip. She could tell he was thinking over her words.

“I don’t know that I’m any good at loving you, Little Bird. Look how I fucked everything right up. I’m shit at it. But I do anyway.”

She laughed. From this man, that was as close to a declaration of undying love as it gets.

“Sandor, I want you to marry me." She couldn't read the look on his face, but she took a breath and pressed on. 

"We’ve both lost so very much the last few years, but we survived, we found each other again, and that means everything to me. I won’t lose you again. I won't. I’ve been married off for politics twice already, now I only want to marry for love.”

“You want to marry me?”

“Yes. And I know its bold of me to ask, but you said always, and I want always with you. I want to start our always now. And I'm fairly certain that if I were to wait for you to ask, I'll die a childless old maid."

"Children."

"Children. I want these halls filled with our children Sandor. If you want them. If you want me."

She watched him as he looked down and rubbed at his eyes, sniffed, and then looked up into her face again, clearly overcome. It brought tears to her eyes as well to see this hard man moved.

He took her hand, studied it, kissed it, and she held her breath. Waited. Waited for him to think. To speak. 

“Little Bird, I don’t know if your Old Gods here in the North have their own words, or know the words of the Seven, but I’d be happy to tell them. Tell you. Tell that tree. Tell all of fucking Westeros if I have to. I will be your husband. I'll do my damndest to be a good one. I will be a father to our children. They'll never know pain if I can help it."

A tear broke from his eye and he dashed it away. Her own tears were running down her face and she didn't care. 

"And if anyone has a problem with that, I’ll kill them where they stand. For always, Little Bird.”


End file.
